


In A Bind

by gettingby



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Anal Sex, BDSM, Banter, Baz pov, Begging, Bondage, Canon Compliant, Cum Play, Dirty Talk, Dom Simon, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Face-Fucking, Fingering, Fluff and Smut, Hair-pulling, M/M, Orgasm Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Book 2: Wayward Son, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Toys, like all four letters, mentions of blood drinking, public humiliation lite, sub baz
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:54:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27237616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gettingby/pseuds/gettingby
Summary: Simon just wants to teach his friends basic survival skills. Hanging around the former Chosen One is dangerous work - who knows when they'll be tied up and need to escape?Baz is a terrible student, and has other ideas.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 26
Kudos: 214





	In A Bind

**Author's Note:**

> once again, thank you to my friend sexy ann for beta'ing. at least you've made it a quarter of the way through carry on now.

“And just twist - easy - and pull…”

A loud snap breaks Penny and Shepard’s focus. Simon turns to glare at me.

“These don’t come cheap, you know,” he growls, snatching the frayed cord from my newly freed wrists.

I raise an eyebrow. “It seems unnecessary for me to learn these skills, Snow.”

“I’ll show you unnecessary, _Pitch_ ,” he growls deliciously.

Penny clears her throat. “If you’re going to engage in this strange flirting, can Shepard and I be excused? It’s been three hours.”

Simon sighs. “Alright, but we’re back at this tomorrow.”

As soon as they’re gone, he rounds on me. “You’re so - so - Crowley. Why are you like this?”

I glow under his blustering. “Why should I learn to escape these restraints when I can just snap them in half instead?”

“And you call me an unskilled brute,” Simon huffs, but he’s got a smile playing on his lips. I can’t help but smile back.

“Let’s try again, shall we?” Simon says. 

I raise an eyebrow. If he wants to watch me snap some more fancy cord, he can. Personally, I’d rather get home so I can show Simon exactly how much I appreciate his competent-teacher role.

“Hands behind your back,” Simon says, and I oblige. He presses my wrists together, wrapping the cord around them gently. He twists the cord around and eventually pulls it taut.

“Ready to be shown up again?” I say, as I call upon my vampire strength to wrench my wrists free.

Only I can’t get the leverage. When I try to pull my wrists apart, I paradoxically bring them closer together.

Simon is full-on grinning now. I keep tugging and tugging, but I can’t do it. This knot can’t be broken with brute force.

I twist my wrists in an imitation of the technique Simon was demonstrating. It doesn’t work. I can’t believe it - I’ve ripped heads off with these arms! I’ve lifted a car! I don’t like to dwell on the more vampiric aspects of my physique, but I know they’re impressive. This shouldn’t be possible. If I didn’t know that Simon’s magic was long gone, I’d accuse him of cheating.

“Serves you right, you wanker,” Simon says, cackling. “You think I don’t know vampire-proof knots?”

I glare at him. He’s standing above me, feet apart and arms crossed. He’s making the same face he makes when he trounces me in _Street Fighter_.

I’ve never backed down from a confrontation from Simon in my life. I roll my shoulders and crack my neck. It’s all in the pecs, right? I focus hard on flexing my muscles.

All it gets me is a cramp.

I contemplate my options: keep at this pointlessly, or admit defeat and allow Simon to untie me.

I decide to give it one last attempt. I clench my jaw and screw my eyes shut. I spread my legs and brace my feet against the ground. I let my head fall back, and I put all of my energy into forcing my wrists apart.

With a final groan, I let my body fall limp. I suppose I’ll have to concede to Simon. I make a mental note to drag him to a museum later this week as revenge. (I love forcing him to attend those audience-participation talks about subjects he doesn’t understand, and then gloating as I answer every question correctly.)

When I open my eyes, Simon is flushed from his face down to the collar of his t-shirt. His eyes are glazed over, and his mouth is hanging open, just a bit.

We stare at each other for a few moments. Simon swallows, his throat long and showy.

Interesting.

Maybe I don’t have to admit defeat after all.

I keep struggling against the ties, even though I know my actions are futile. My defenses have been stripped away by a few skillful movements of Simon’s fingers. I’m completely at his mercy, aren’t I?

I let my thighs fall open even further as I lean back into the chair. I gaze up at Simon through my lashes.

His eyes dart across my body as if he’s not sure where to look, or whether he’s allowed to look at all.

I want to push him over the edge, so I roll my shoulders and rotate my torso as I work the knots from different angles. I throw in some noises of frustration, just as the cherry on top.

Simon’s easily manipulated by all sorts of cherries, even the metaphorical ones. He gulps and steps forward.

“Um. Should I untie you?”

“I don’t know, _Snow_ ,” I say, puckering my lips and saying his name slowly as possible. “Should you?”

He clears his throat. “Uh, well. I can teach you how to slip out, if you want that instead. ‘s the point of this whole thing, anyway…”

I wiggle my hips, and Simon’s eyes snap to my crotch. My jeans are leaving little to the imagination. I tip my head to the side so that my hair falls down my shoulder in a long wave. 

“I’m fairly comfortable, thank you.”

For a few seconds, there’s no sound between us except Simon’s breaths growing heavier.

Then he grabs me by the collar and hauls me upright.

“Red-yellow-green, alright?”

“Yes,” I gasp.

Simon gestures at the gym mat next to us, where he’d demonstrated grappling moves a few days ago. (That did not go well for me. I enjoy getting pinned down far too much.)

“On your knees.”

I don’t move except to raise an eyebrow. “Why?”

Simon’s lips come so close that a little bit of spit lands on me when he talks, which shouldn’t be as arousing as it is.

“Because I’m telling you to, Basil.”

He walks me backwards. I nearly trip on the edge of the mat, but he catches me with a hand against my back. As soon as I’m at the center of it, he forces me onto my knees.

“Colour?” he asks, stroking my cheek.

“Green,” I breathe. “Very green.”

His gentle smile turns a familiar sort of wicked.

This is one of our favourite games. I know exactly which of his buttons to push, and he knows exactly how to take me apart in return.

You’d think that after all our years of fighting and yearning, I’d hate to be manhandled or denied. And most of the time, it’s not rough at all - it’s laughter and _I love you’s_ , soft touches and sensual motions. 

But Simon was my sexual awakening, after all. My preferences appear to have been molded by circumstance, and sometimes I need him to succumb to his basest impulses. 

Hence, a well developed language of safe-words.

“High, medium, low?” Simon asks, one hand fisted in my hair.

“Medium.”

Simon yanks my head backwards by my hair. I squeeze my eyes shut as blood rushes to my head.

“You’ve been a massive prick today, Baz,” Simon growls. I feel arousal sparking low in my belly. He barely has to pretend; he’s _actually_ annoyed with me.

It thrills me that we can do this - let ourselves go completely. Even when we bring out the worst in each other, or show the darkest parts of ourselves, we know we’ll be accepted.

Here, we don’t have to be ashamed of the parts of ourselves that are wild, ruthless, or truthfully _violent_.

“I’m not going to let you get away with it,” he adds.

I sneer. “I should hardly be punished for my natural gifts—”

“Of which you have _plenty_. But there are some things you’re really perfect for.” He presses his crotch against my mouth and I moan.

I quite enjoy Simon in joggers. Even when he’s soft, I can see _plenty_. Right now? I can practically trace his veins through the fabric.

“Even you should know that I can’t get anything done with your trousers tied up like that.”

“You might be trussed up for me, Pitch, but that mouth is good for something besides bitchy comments. I’m sure a _naturally gifted_ bloke like you can figure it out.”

And so I do. The drawstrings on his joggers are double-knotted. I attack the knot itself first, teeth bared in a way that used to make me horribly self-conscious, but never fails to turn Simon on.

My mouth is watering as Simon’s prick swells under my ministrations. He smells like a bakery - warm bread and melted butter - as more blood flows into his erection. I’m desperate to taste him.

My fangs stay sheathed, thankfully. Vampires often use sex to get what they want, and as such the fangs stay in during delicate situations like these.

Now, when my mouth is down by the cleft between his perineum and his thighs? No power on earth could keep my fangs from dropping. I’ve only let myself feed off his femoral pulse a few times. The flow is so strong there that I only feel comfortable drinking from it for a few seconds. (It also tends to make Simon come on the spot, so we reserve it for special occasions only.)

Simon’s murmuring filthy things as he presses my nose into his crotch. I struggle to get a good grip on the knot. It’s tight, and tough to untie without ripping the drawstring completely. (Simon’s very good at knots, clearly.)

“Fuck, you can do it, baby,” he murmurs, tucking my hair behind my ears. “So good with that obnoxious mouth, aren’t you?”

I flush at the praise.

“So good. You’re working so hard to get my cock down your throat.”

I lick my lips. I’m ready to be hoarse tomorrow. (Vampires can’t get sick, so pretending to have a cold at work provides some plausible deniability.)

Once the first knot is free, it’s easy to pull the second apart. And then, before Simon can order me to, I hook my teeth into the waistband of his trousers and slide them down.

It’s a little challenging - an obstacle course where Simon’s ridiculously hard prick is the major obstacle. But I’m excellent at problem solving, so I get it eventually, and then Simon’s cock springs free.

It’s perfect, not that I have any basis of comparison. It fits inside me like it was meant to be there, curving in all the right places and pressing against my prostate with dizzying pressure.

I like to say we’ve got chemistry _and_ geometry. Simon calls me soft for that.

But it’s perfect - not too big or small, not too wide or thin. Enough to be uncomfortable when I want it to be, and gentle when we take the time to prepare.

Today’s going to be the former, if I’m reading Simon right.

“Get on with it,” he snaps, pushing his cock between my lips. I resist for a moment so that he has to push harder, then open my mouth and let him into my throat.

“Fucking hell,” he groans. “Red is one snap, okay?”

I snap my fingers thrice. And then thrice again - easy, medium, _hard_.

Simon places both hands against the back of my neck and thrusts.

I gag immediately, tears springing to my eyes. I feel completely out of control, like I’m just a ball of reactions.

Simon pulls my hair roughly, fucking me as I swallow to keep my throat open for him, smearing the spit that dribbles down my chin against my face and neck. My eyes roll to the back of my head as I allow myself to be used.

I whine as Simon stills his hips. I suck hard even as he pushes me off, enough that he tugs my hair in warning.

“Your perfect cocksucking mouth,” he gasps, “was going to make me come.”

“Aw, already?” I tease. There’s not much sting to it, because my voice is already wrecked.

Simon snorts. “You’re such a dick.”

“Well, look where it gets me.”

He crouches down to kiss me. I kiss back hard, and he gives as good as he gets. When I tip myself backwards, he tumbles right on top of me.

“Oof,” he says, surprised.

I grin. I’ll never tire of that wide-eyed, indignant look.

I don’t get to enjoy it for long - it quickly shifts to something darker, once he realises that he’s got me pinned on my back.

“Are your wrists okay?” he asks, running a thumb along my lips. Instead of answering, I capture it in my mouth and suck.

“Crowley,” Simon breathes. He rocks forward and his thigh presses against my erection. I hum and grind against him.

How long has it been? At least a week. Adulthood sucks.

“Does that feel good, baby?” Simon says, pressing kisses against my jaw. I nod.

He lifts my thighs and draps them over my shoulders. “So flexible,” he says, admiringly. “Fuck, Baz, your legs are _so long_. It’s unfair.”

“It’s perfectly fair,” I reply. “It’s hardly my fault that you’re short.”

“Not short where it matters, am I?” We stare at each other for a moment, then burst into giggles.

“That was a good one, though,” he says, and I do half a crunch in order to kiss his petulant mouth.

“It was very good.”

“No breaking character anymore, okay? I’m going to give you exactly what you want. Work with me, love.”

He’s looking at me with so much care. We’ve both lacked comfort and security in our lives, so we take every chance to give it to each other now. I used to think that nothing could hurt Simon, back when he was the most powerful mage alive - that nothing could hurt _me_ when I was around him.

He doesn’t have magic anymore, but his fire keeps me safe in its glow. There’s nothing to fear when he’s by my side.

So I do the impossible, and let myself go. I place my body in his hands and trust him to treat me with care. I break down my walls and let him see all of me - a shameful, wanting, vulnerable mess.

First, I close my eyes. Then I lay my head back, exposing the sensitive skin of my throat. I allow my shoulders to droop, exhale deeply, and relax every muscle in succession. It’s the way Simon’s body goes limp when my venom enters his bloodstream.

“Good, baby. Let go. You’re so fucking hard for me,” Simon says, rubbing his hand against the bulge in my trousers. “Does it get you hot, darling? Being tied up and held down?”

“Obviously,” I drawl. He slides his thumb down, and shoves it against the seam overlying my arsehole. I yelp.

“You’re being a real prat today, Basil. Don’t worry - I’ll get you to behave.”

He takes my legs off his shoulders and spreads them as wide as my jeans allow. I squirm as he undoes my belt and flies, and eventually works my trousers off.

“Sit up,” he says when he’s done. I squeeze his broad body between my thighs and lift my back off the ground. He hums approvingly and rubs the straining muscles of my stomach.

“You’ve got such a gorgeous body, darling.” He slips his fingers under the hem of my t-shirt and pulls it over my head. It gets stuck on my wrists, the tight material pulling my shoulders back further. 

“You’ve gotten yourself in quite a bind, haven’t you?” Simon chuckles.

I try to scoff. “I could easily rip this shirt off.”

“Well, don’t. I like this one.” He lays me back down, and I flinch when the cold practice mat touches my naked back.

He kisses down my neck, trying to mark me even though I can’t bruise. The sight of his glorious curls moving down my body is enticing, but I can’t focus because I’m so bloody _cold_.

I hook my foot around his ankle and tug to get his attention. “Perhaps we should relocate.”

“Hm? No, it’s okay. I’ve rented the practice room until eight - we’re not gonna get caught.”

I press my cold toe into the space between Simon’s trouser leg and his sock and smirk at his reaction.

“That’s not the issue.”

“Fucking _hell_ you’re cold. Alright, let’s go back to the flat.”

He helps me stand up and stuffs my clothes haphazardly into my gym bag (I’ll chastise him for that later.) Then he pulls his jumper over me. My bound wrists are sticking out of the back, and the arms of the jumper hang loose, but I’m already a thousand times warmer.

He pulls out an extra pair of joggers from his bag and kneels in front of me.

“Step into these,” he says. I do. He slowly stands up, running his hands along my calves, thighs, hips as he dresses me. I try to hold on to my dignity - it doesn’t work.

“Let’s go,” he says.

I school my features into composure as we exit the building and turn the corner. I’m regretting the decision to walk here instead of drive; home is a good three blocks away, and I’m sure I look absolutely ridiculous to the passers-by.

Simon snakes his hand around my waist and whispers, “Colour?”

“Green.”

“Good.” He keeps his lips pressed against my ear. “Do you think everyone can tell what’s going on, Baz? That your hands are tied behind your back? That you get off on being tied up, and you’re being marched home for a good fucking?”

I struggle to maintain a neutral expression. It’s getting dark, and I’m sure nobody is actually paying attention to us, but a hot wave of embarrassment courses through me anyway. I bite back a moan.

“Do you think they can tell how hard you are in those trackies?” he adds. And then he tightens his arm around my waist and just barely brushes my erection with his palm. I swallow and speed up my pace.

We scramble up the stairs to our flat, both breathing fast as Simon fumbles with the house keys.

The door finally swings open.

“Bedroom,” he says immediately. I force myself to walk slowly, to bask in Simon’s hot gaze. He’s staring at my wrists as they sway against my arse.

I toe off my trainers and settle on the bed. Simon was right; this will be much better on a soft mattress.

Simon slams the bedroom door shut behind him and tackles me. His hands are suddenly all over me. He kisses me furiously and strips me down to my pants in a matter of minutes. Then, he grabs the edge of the comforter and wraps it tightly around both of us.

He spoons me, his warm chest against the cold skin of my back. I grind myself back against him and he moans, thrusting against my open palms. My fingers scramble to grasp him, but he’s gone too quickly.

“There’s something I want to try, alright?” he says. He leans over me to reach under the bed, and pulls out our box of sex toys. 

I buck up against his body with a moan. He straddles me and grins as he runs his fingers over the contents of the box.

Finally, he picks up a medium-sized plug. This one’s made of silver metal and shaped like a teardrop. There’s just a thin bit of metal that forms a handle between the plug itself and the circular base. It’s his favourite to use on me, because he can hold the base and move it around inside of me.

My mouth goes dry as he lubes it up. Once he’s satisfied with the slickness, he disappears under the covers, and I lift my arse up so that he can pull down my pants. Even though I’m expecting it, I flinch when I feel the cold, tapered tip of the plug against my entrance.

“Breathe through it for me, darling.” Simon’s voice is soothing as he pushes the plug inside. It meets a bit of resistance around the first ring of muscle, then slips fully inside of me. I clench around it and moan. It’s been _far_ too long.

It’s getting too warm under the comforter, so I slide upwards and Simon folds it away. His breath catches as he sees my naked body and swollen erection.

“Fuck, Baz. You’re so beautiful.”

He wraps his arms around me and sets me on my haunches. When I’m upright, with my arse and wrists resting between my heels, the plug feels even deeper.

Simon licks his lips and kisses me. I just drop my jaw open and let him lead. I’m in such a haze of lust that I can’t do much more than that.

He pulls back and gazes at my body. My back is arched so that I can brace myself against my hands, my shirt is hanging off my elbows, and I’m kneeling with my thighs spread wide. My erection is front and center. Simon’s still fully dressed.

I feel painfully, exquisitely exposed.

“Look at you,” he says reverently. “All tied up with a little bow for me.”

I’m too aroused to think of a witty reply. Instead, I reach forward with my mouth, and he kisses me again, softer this time. He tucks my hair behind my ear with one hand, and presses me closer to him with the other.

I _do_ feel like a gift - something yearned for and treasured.

Simon deepens the kiss, bringing one hand to my cock. It’s too much and not enough. The slow, insistent kiss, the light friction on my erection, the static pressure of the plug - my limbs are turning to jelly.

Once I’m dripping with precome, he grips the base of the plug and massages it in gentle circles. It shifts deliciously inside of me. I squirm and push back against it; I feel so _empty_.

“Please,” I whine against his lips. “I need more. Need you.”

He kisses the back of my neck as he works the toy. “Patience, Baz. That’s the key to escaping that knot, by the way.”

“I hate you,” I manage to say between moans, and he laughs and holds me closer.

Then he keeps kissing me, lower and lower. When he swallows my prick into his mouth, I gasp and sway dangerously. Normally, I would grab Simon’s hair to keep myself balanced in this position. Instead, I’m digging my knees and feet into the mattress, and my abs are burning with the effort of keeping myself upright. 

He breaks away for a moment to strip off his clothes, and then he’s back on me, taking me deep into his throat.

Simon spreads my hole open and slips a finger into me alongside the plug. I rock back against it, and Simon uses his other hand to thrust my hips forward. It’s a dizzying cycle of pleasure - Simon forces me into his mouth, and I push back against his hands. I’ve never felt anything like it.

His chin is slick with spit when he finally pulls off, and even the feeling of air against my wet cock is too much stimulation.

“Simon, please. I need it. I need you.”

“What do you need, love?” he asks cheekily. “Say it.”

I don’t beg often; it’s beneath me. But this is an extenuating circumstance. I think I might implode if Simon teases me any longer.

“I need you to fuck me, please--”

He laughs. “Well, have you learned your lesson, _Basil_?”

I clench around the plug - and his finger - in response.

“Say yes so I can pound your gorgeous body into the mattress,” he says, easing the plug out. It slips out wetly and I moan at the friction. It’s all too brief.

“Turn over, you lovely thing.”

I roll over and settle onto my knees. Without the use of my arms, I’m forced to press my face into the pillow while my arse hangs high in the air.

Simon spreads my hole wider and licks it roughly. 

“Not your mouth, your _cock_ ,” I snap. It feels good, but it’s not _enough_.

I turn my neck to the side so that I can watch his reaction. His face twists with the effort of denying me, and he squeezes at the base of his cock to calm himself.

Then he’s snapping open the lube and slicking himself up.

Hah. I knew I could break his resolve.

He slips his cock between my arsecheeks and squeezes them together, groaning with relief. I flex my muscles to hold him tighter, and he pets my hair.

“You’re so sexy, Baz. So warm right here, and so desperate for my cock.”

I nod vigorously and spread my legs apart to expose my hole further, hoping that he’ll take the hint.

“But you still haven’t apologised for your atrocious behaviour,” he says, and I shove my face into the pillow and groan.

I can’t take it anymore. This man has driven me to insanity.

“I’m sorry,” I moan. He places the head of his slick cock against my hole, but doesn’t push.

I grit my teeth. “Crowley, I said I’m sorry, just--”

“Will you be good?”

“I’ll be so good - I just - _Simon_ \--”

“Remember this the next time you want to be a brat,” he says. He’s trying to keep his voice stern, but it’s trembling with desire. “Remember where it gets you. Remember who’s calling the shots in the end.”

“You are,” I say, twisting myself against the sheets. “I’ll remember, I promise--”

“Get ready, because I’m not going to be gentle,” he growls, and then he slides in with one smooth stroke.

The ache inside me is relieved so immediately, so completely, that all I can do is scream helplessly into my pillow.

“Do you like that?” he asks, and I babble some useless response. “Then take it, you beautiful slag.”

He grabs me firmly by the hips and pounds me.

He never starts with such a punishing pace, but I’m so relaxed and aroused from his teasing that I yield to it immediately. I writhe, I struggle against the restraints, and I beg for it faster, harder, deeper, _more_.

“You open up so well for me,” he says between breaths. “You take it all, don’t you?”

I moan in agreement.

“Such a good boy,” he says. He releases my hips and grabs hold of the small section of cord between my bound wrists.

When he pulls on it, the cord doesn’t tighten around my wrists or hurt me in any way, but it does jerk my body backwards onto his cock. I feel like a buoy on the rough sea, being tossed about for Simon’s pleasure.

My cock is bobbing between my legs, painfully hard, and I want to touch myself, but—

Fuck.

I can’t touch myself. How am I going to come?

I’ll have to beg. And so I do, at least when I can - when Simon pulls me back and my mouth is free of the pillow.

“Not yet, darling,” he responds, smoothing my sweaty hair across my back. “But shh, you’re being so good. I’m going to make you feel so good.”

The pleasure continues to build and build. It’s nearly too much to feel my cock skim the sheets with every thrust.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Simon says, and his voice is strained. “I need to come. I’m - ah - I’m going to come, Baz--”

“Yes,” I moan.

He pulls out and flips me over with a growl, thrusting his cock into his hand a few times, before his eyes slide shut and he’s groaning my name.

His come splatters all over my front. A few drops land in my hair.

I _hate_ getting spunk in my hair. But I’m too aroused to be annoyed right now - I can complain about that later. Right now, I need to _orgasm_.

I writhe and whimper as Simon gathers the mess onto his fingers and thrusts them into my mouth. “Lick it up, love,” he says. “Be a good boy, and I’ll let you come.”

So I do. I swallow every drop, and I suck hard as he thrusts his fingers into my mouth.

I’m ashamed to admit that within seconds of his hand gripping me, I come.

And Crowley, do I _come_. The pleasure hits me in unremitting waves. It feels like hours before I’m done spilling onto Simon and myself.

I think that I actually black out for a few seconds. Because when I open my eyes, I’ve got my arms wrapped around Simon and he’s gaping at me.

One half of the cord hangs from each of my wrists. Simon bursts into laughter and collapses next to me, burying his face in my shoulder.

“Told you I didn’t need your lessons,” I say, once I catch my breath.

“You’re so bloody strong.” He kisses my cheek and throws an arm across my chest. “You should still learn the proper techniques, though. Not all of your captors will drive you to intense orgasm, y’know.”

I close my eyes and snuggle closer to him. “Pity. Fine - teach me tomorrow.”

“And you won’t be a git about it this time?”

I smirk sleepily. “You wish.”

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi on [tumblr](im-gettingby.tumblr.com) if you can still look me in the eye after this :)


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